I open my mouth to answer, shut him down, but—I can’t. What was that? I don’t even really know, and I doubt Viola does either.
Shaking my head again, I look away as I answer. “She poked me in the ribs. Right in that ticklish spot. I was stopping her.”
His eyebrows have climbed his forehead when I risk a glance at him. “Tickle fights, huh? I never thought I’d see the day.”
I know he wants me to ask, Never thought you’d see what day? And so I refuse to ask on principle. Besides, it’s not like I can’t fill in the blanks. He never thought he’d see the day I’d have a tickle fight with a woman in the greenroom. Especially a tickle fight that doesn’t end in sex of some variety.
I’ve never had drawn out flirtations since I joined Cataclysm. Not since high school, actually. Relationships? Sure. Sex partners? Plenty. But not this kind of … juvenile teasing and flirting and horsing around.
I’m a man. I should’ve outgrown this by now.
Aaron claps me on the shoulder. “It’s good for you, man. You’ve been too serious for too long, and then after Blaire left …”
I tense up, waiting for the lecture. The berating.
But it doesn’t come. Instead he shrugs. “I know that was hardest on you. Not that any of us were happy to see her go, but …” He shrugs again, this time looking a little uncomfortable. “Anyway, I’m glad to see you getting back to your normal self.”
“I’m not sure I’d call anything that’s happened the last two months me being my normal self.”
Aaron opens his mouth to respond, then shakes his head. “Maybe not. But you’re not trying to set the world record for how many chicks you can fuck in a single night anymore. You’re not showing up to everything drunk or hungover. And you’ve stopped antagonizing the one person who can make your life literal hell. And you know we’d all help her, too, right? Because you were seriously being a dick.”
I want to protest, but he’s right, so I swallow down the bitter truth of his words and nod. “Yeah, fine. I was. I’m not anymore, though. I’ve turned over a new leaf and all that shit. Are we good? Don’t you have your own pre-show ritual to get to?”
He just shrugs. “I could play this show in my sleep by now. And so could you. I can keep talking for a while if you want to.”
“Fuck off, man.” I say it with a smile blooming on my face, though. “We might’ve shared a lot of things, but we don’t sit around and discuss our feelings.”
“Maybe you should,” he says with another shrug. “If not with me, then with someone. Viola. A therapist. Your mom. Whoever. You might feel better.”
His words strike a nerve, but probably not the one he hopes. “Yeah … I don’t think my mom cares much about my feelings these days. Unless those feelings are of regret and repentance. And even then …”
Aaron’s face falls, like he realizes that was a dick thing to say, even if he wasn’t trying to be hurtful. “Right. I’m sorry, man. I forgot—”
I wave away the rest of his apology. “It’s not a big deal. Forget about it.”
He stares at me like he wants to say something else, but I give him my best asshole glare. “Seriously. Forget about it.”
“Fine, fine.” Sighing, he scratches the back of his neck. “Sam and Maddie are waiting for me in my dressing room, so I better go hang with them for a while.”
“And you said you didn’t have any pre-show rituals.”
With a laugh, he flips me off and opens the door, the soft snick of the latch sealing me in with my thoughts once again.
Only this time they’re even darker, realizing that Viola’s right to push me away. What would she want with a fuckup like me, anyway? My own mother wants nothing to do with me. Why would anyone else?
Whatever flirtation Viola and I might have had going on at the pre-show dinner, it doesn’t resume afterward.
Or the next day.
Or the next week.
And even though I’m getting occasional meaningful looks from Aaron and the other women along for the tour, they’re all ridiculous. It’s the same thing with Blaire all over again—Viola and I are the only two single people they’re aware of, so of course we’ll end up together. Right?
Only that didn’t go over well with Blaire. In fact, she hated the assumption so much that she ended even our casual relationship and ran off to join another tour.
These fuckers better not drive Viola off with their loaded looks and faulty assumptions. Just because they’re all disgustingly happy with their relationships doesn’t mean that I need that. Or want that.
Or that Viola does either.
Plus, there are plenty of other guys on the tour for her to date or sleep with or whatever. It’s not like I’m her only option. I still think there might be something going on with her and Dave the security guard. They’ve spent enough time together as my babysitters, exchanging looks when they thought I was too drunk to notice. He’s never been rude to her or tried to make her life harder out of spite. So it makes far more sense that she’d end up with him than with me anyway.
But by the time we’re finishing up our stint in Vancouver, BC, I’ve had enough of the distance. Enough of the going straight back to the hotel after a show. Enough of being on my own.
Back in my dressing room, I wipe myself down with one of the fluffy white hand towels in my bag, dig out my deodorant and my extra shirt. I might not be fresh as a spring daisy, but it’ll do for a night out.
A knock sounds on my door as I put my arms through the sleeves of my T-shirt. “It’s open,” I call, waiting to pull the shirt over my head
